Out of My League

Chapter 1 (Izzy)

"Excuse me, ma'am," an old, decrepit voice comes from over the top of my shoulder, accompanied by an equally decrepit hand, "Do you know where I might be able to find the canned oysters?"

"Should be with the other canned goods," I put on my best customer-service smile, "Aisle eight."

The lady hesitates for only a second, but it's long enough for me to ask, "Would you like me to show you?"

"No, that's okay," she pats my shoulder before pulling her hand back to herself, "You're busy right now, so I'll find another employee if I can't find what I'm looking for."

I should insist that I'm not busy and that I have plenty of time to help her find what she's looking for, but the truth is, I really don't have any time to spare.

My manager, Michael, is very insist that I get the shelves as stocked as I can today, which involves what seems like thousands of boxes being unpacked, loaded onto the cart, and taken to their individual aisles.

After that, they're some other poor worker's problem.

Finishing up on the shelf I started on, I'm just beginning to head towards the storage room to get yet another load when my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket.

It's probably a text from my best, and only, friend, Reagan, complaining about all of the homework she has this week, or how she failed her most recent exam, despite studying harder than she ever had before.

When I pull my phone out of my pocket to do damage control, however, I realize that it isn't a text from Reagan, but an update from the app I'd downloaded last week, informing me of Noah Parker and the Colonials' latest stats from the game last night.

I'd wanted to stay up and watch it, but I'd fallen asleep halfway through the third inning, unable to hold my eyes open any longer.

Noah went one for three with a single, a fly-out, a strikeout, and an RBI.

Not terrible.

Nobody on the team did any better than him, though, so the Colonials fell to the Astros by a total of four runs.

It's a down year, so I'm not concerned for the team as a whole, but I am slightly concerned for Noah, who usually goes two for three at the least.

I hope he isn't hurt.

Shrugging, I pocket my cell phone and get back to work. There'd be plenty of time to research Noah and the Colonials later this evening, once my shift ended.

***

"You wouldn't believe the day that I had," Reagan pushes our apartment door open, huffing before dropping her purse onto the floor.

After shedding her shoes, she crosses the floor and drops, dramatically, onto the couch, her arm covering her eyes.

I'd been at the miniature kitchen counter preparing dinner, but all it really needs to do now is simmer and Reagan's issue seems slightly more important.

Swiping my hands across a towel, I cross the small living space and take a seat on the small amount of couch that she isn't sprawled across.

"Tell me."

"Well, first," she sits up, scooting over to make more room for me to sit on, "I went to the coffee shop and they messed up my order."

She says the words like they're equivalent to 'they pulled a knife on me.'

"How?"

"They gave me regular milk instead of oat milk," she fake gags, "And I'm lactose intolerant, as you know, so that could've been a real mess if I hadn't noticed."